by P. G. Forte
“No, not really. Most of the time, she didn’t have a clue.” Marsha paused to sip her wine. “Trust me, I have a lot to answer for.”
She broke off as their waiter returned with their dinners: a layered autumn nut and vegetable terrine for her; and for him, butternut squash-filled ravioli, topped with toasted pine nuts and dried cranberries in a buttery, sage-cream sauce. Marsha inhaled the fragrances greedily and smiled. Sam was happy to see some of the tension leave her face.
He was not as lucky. He could still feel his own tension churning in his gut. Could taste its effect in the bitterness it left in his mouth, even as he bit into the savory pasta.
There was no way he could tell her the truth tonight. No way to explain that, although he had lied and misled her from the very start, it didn’t have to matter. That she didn’t have to let it change the way she felt about him. It didn’t have to interfere with any of the plans he’d found himself making all day long. Plans for a future that more than included her, it damn near revolved around her.
Getting her to understand all of that would take time. Probably lots of time, he thought gloomily. The kind of time he didn’t have tonight. The kind of time he wouldn’t have at all, until he had taken care of his little problem with Harry.
* * *
As they left the restaurant and stepped into the waiting fog, Sam pulled her into his arms. Marsha melted against him, marveling again at the way he could make her feel. His kiss was sweet and slow and ripe with promise. She felt the familiar throbbing ache deep within her; she couldn’t tell if it was caused more by memory or anticipation. She didn’t even care anymore if it was just her own desire she was feeling, or if she was sensing his, as well. She had resolved earlier today to give up thinking about what any of it might mean for the present – just as enthusiastically as she had once tried, when she was eight or nine, to give up teeth-brushing for Lent.
She would worry about the future when the future arrived. That way, whatever happened, at least she’d have this time, bright and untarnished, to look back on.
At last he ended the kiss and held her against his chest. “Ahh, Marsha,” he sighed tenderly. She thought he might say more, but he didn’t, and they stood entwined in silence for several moments. Finally, he stirred and pulled back, a little, to look at her. “You are coming back to the cabin with me, aren’t you?”
“Well, I was thinking… could we go back to my house instead?”
He didn’t say anything at first… his eyes were unreadable in the dark, but for a moment she thought she sensed disappointment there, and worried that she had maybe misread his intentions yet again.
But then he smiled. “Sure, if that’s what you want, but you have to promise that tomorrow, when you drive me back to the cabin to get my bike, you are not leaving until we try out that hot tub together.”
“The hot—? Oh, you mean the Japanese soaking tub.”
He grimaced. “I don’t care what you call it. All I know is I had to pass the damn thing after every cold shower I took this last week and I swore to myself that, if I ever got the chance, you and I would put that tub to good use.”
The heat that flared in his eyes as he looked at her made her dizzy. She was quite sure that she had never before, not ever in her entire life, been the object of this much desire. It was an intoxicating feeling. “Cold showers, huh? Did you, uh, need a lot of those?”
“Yes.”
“Sam. That is... that’s just... so... sweet!” She laughed, burying her face against his chest.
“Sweet? It was nothing of the kind,” he growled. “But you keep talking like that and maybe I’ll show you the sort of fantasies I’ve had about that mattress in the back of your van.” He pushed her gently toward it as he spoke. “They’re not sweet, either. Would you like me to drive, by the way? I know how you feel about driving in the dark.”
“No, that’s okay I—” She stopped suddenly, surprised to realize that the thought of him driving really didn’t bother her. “Well, actually, if you wouldn’t mind driving?”
“Mind?” He flashed her a big smile. “Now, why would I mind? I drive faster than you do, angel. Which just means we’ll get there sooner. And I don’t mind that at all!”
“Okay, but... just don’t drive too fast,” she cautioned as she climbed into the passenger seat. “She doesn’t like to be rushed.”
“Uh-huh.” He gave her a look laden with skeptical amusement as he put the van in gear. “Are we talking about the van, now? Or you?”
She stroked the carpeting that covered the door absently. “Well, the van, obviously.”
How could he even ask? She didn’t know why he’d taken to calling her angel; the way she’d rushed into this affair with him only proved that she was nothing of the sort. Or hadn’t he even noticed how fast she’d fallen for him?
“And…she... has opinions now?”
She smiled at him, determined to keep the conversation light. “We have an intuitive understanding. I take care of her and let her go at her own pace, and she doesn’t break down and leave me stranded anywhere that might be dangerous or too terribly inconvenient. And she always makes sure that, if there’s someplace I really need to be... I get there.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Have I mentioned how upsetting it is when you say things that are completely irrational like that? It’s just a vehicle, Marsha – a machine. Not some kind of omniscient, four-wheeled horse, you know.”
“Look, all I know is that she took me all the way home from the desert once, after the trans fluid had been accidentally drained – and she didn’t break down until I was parked in front of my house. And there was another time, when I was driving on the freeway and she just started slowing down and pulling to the right, and I had no sooner gotten onto the shoulder when one of the tires blew. So, rational, or not, things like that tend to make you pay attention.”
“Well, I guess as long as it’s on your side, that’s better than having it working against you.”
“Damn straight.” She turned her head against the back of the seat to look at him. “Does it really upset you?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“Why?”
He took a long time answering, and she felt he was choosing his words with care. “I suppose because it seems sometimes like your reality and mine are so very different…they’re almost irreconcilable.”
“Oh.” She felt a tiny chill invade the warm cocoon that had enveloped her, but she ignored it. Their differences weren’t important tonight. Reality – either hers or his – belonged to the future. And their futures were almost certainly irreconcilable anyway.
As they pulled up in front of her house, Marsha felt just the tiniest misgiving. Maybe they should have gone back to the cabin, after all. Celeste’s bedroom, with its large, sumptuous bed was such a perfect setting for a fantasy. Maybe she was being foolish bringing him here instead, trying to pretend he could actually become a part of her life.
Oh, definitely she was being foolish; but then, when had she ever been smart where men were concerned?
Moonlight shone in through all the windows, and she didn’t bother turning on any lights as she led the way through the silent house and into her room. They undressed in the dark, almost without speaking; and when she slipped into bed, he was waiting, reaching out for her, pulling her down to lie beside him. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she realized that he was examining her closely, hands and eyes traveling over every inch, a dreamy, yet still somehow hooded expression on his face. She had no idea what he was thinking; a circumstance so rare, she’d almost forgotten it existed.
Not that she could read minds, exactly – not the way everyone seemed to think she could. Moods and clues and vague impressions flowed endlessly from most people, and it was hard not to have a pretty good idea what they thought or felt. But with Sam there were, increasingly, long moments when his thoughts were shadowed. Clouded. Hidden.
Uncertainty caused her to shiver beneath his scruti
ny. She had to force herself not to pull away. “What…what are you thinking about?” she asked when she could no longer stand the suspense.
“I’m thinking about how beautiful you look in the moonlight,” he murmured, his voice as dreamy as his expression; low and soft. His hand slid up over her ribs again to curve gently around one breast. “I want to remember every last detail.”
“Stop it,” she ordered, as she grabbed his wrist and tried to pull his hand away. “You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t?” His hand froze on her. His eyes glittered with something close to anger. She stilled, remembering the argument they’d almost had in the van this morning.
Why does it matter? Do you really need to know what he’s thinking? Why can’t you just accept what he tells you, enjoy the attention, and let it go at that?
But she couldn’t let it go. The things he said touched her as no one ever had; she had to know if he meant them. Or if they were just pretty words, empty phrases meant only to flatter.
What do you think, fool? You have a mirror, don’t you?
“Why do you say things like that?” she asked, pleadingly. She gave up trying to pry away his wrist, and attempted to squirm away from him instead, but still his hand stayed on her. She could feel the heat from it pouring through her, to form a warm pool deep in her belly. She squirmed again, but closer to him this time.
“Like what?” He sounded distracted. His gaze drifted downward, and his thumb began to move slowly back and forth across her swollen nipple.
“That I’m beautiful or... or things like that,” she stammered as the ripples of heat flowed faster.
Or perfect. But she couldn’t even say that word aloud. At first, for fear that doing so might cause him to retract it. And then because his hand slid off her breast, and she had to clamp her lips together to keep from whimpering at the loss of his touch.
He shrugged, his gaze shifting to some point beyond her as he answered, “Because they’re true, I suppose. You are beautiful.” She started to speak, but he stopped her with a gentle finger against her lips. “You are, you know,” he insisted, his eyes burning into hers again, his voice as quiet as his touch.
“How am I supposed to believe you mean that?” she whispered, tears starting in her eyes. “How can I not think you’re just telling me... whatever you think I want to hear?”
His lips curved up in a small, unbelieving smile. He stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Marsha, how can you possibly doubt that I want you? I would think by now—” He shook his head gently. “You have to know this, angel.”
“I know you – that you want me,” she admitted, swallowing hard before she continued. “And I want you, too, Sam. But that’s not the same as—”
“I suppose this is about your scars, isn’t it?” he interrupted with a sigh. “Boy, somebody must have really done a number on your head, to make you think they could matter all that much.”
“Well, you can’t tell me you think they’re attractive,” she said bitterly.
He smiled again. “Why not? Maybe I’m secretly into scarification. Maybe I wish you had a few more. Maybe I’m thinking of getting some myself.”
“That’s not funny, Sam.”
“Let me ask you something,” he said, levering himself up on one elbow and resting his head in his hand. “Did you think I was born with hair this color?”
She looked at him, puzzled, her fingers reaching out to lightly touch the silvery strands. “No, but what’s the point? You’re equating your hair color with... with my scars? That’s ridiculous.”
“Why’s that? They’re both changes in our appearance that neither of us chose to make.”
She sighed, and shook her head. “Look, Sam, I know where you’re going with this. You’re trying to get me to say something obvious, like beauty is only skin deep, right? Nice try, but it’s not gonna work.”
“Actually, I think all I really want right now, is to make you see that it doesn’t matter.”
“But that’s just it. Don’t you see? It does matter. It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t. But all the same...”
“You’re wrong. It matters to you, maybe—”
“Yes.”
“—but it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I wish I believed that.”
He looked at her curiously, and she was startled by the interest that glimmered suddenly in his eyes. “You really think I’m lying, don’t you?”
She frowned, “I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you believe. And all the same…it doesn’t bother you? You’re still here with me?” The idea seemed to please him, she realized with dismay.
Suddenly, she could sense eager, little currents of energy sparking and blazing to life within him. He seemed... happy about it, somehow, excited, or – no. He seemed relieved.
Like maybe he wouldn’t have to keep up the pretense anymore? Like maybe he’d finally figured out that she would give him whatever he wanted, even without the lies?
All at once she realized that a tiny part of her had been holding on to the crazy hope that he might actually have meant it, after all. Too late, she understood that the truth mattered more than she wanted it to. Embarrassed to be seen by him now, she reached hastily for the blanket, to cover herself.
But she could not control the tremor in her voice. “I think the real question is, why are you here with me tonight? That is, since you don’t mean… since you obviously were never serious about—” Her voice trailed off into the humiliating silence. Now you’ve done it. You’ve ruined everything. Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut and leave well enough alone?
His smile disappeared in an instant. “Marsha, no. I never meant—”
“It’s okay,” she said, knowing it wasn’t. She tried to turn her head away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Really, I—”
His hands were gentle as they framed her face. “No, damn it, it’s not okay. I’m an idiot for saying something like that. But I promise you, I’m not lying now. And as for why I’m with you, it’s because I, I—”
He broke off suddenly, and she felt him clamp down quickly on whatever response he was about to make.
“Because this is where I want to be,” he continued fiercely, his eyes begging her to believe him. “That’s why. And because you are beautiful. In all the ways that matter. And fascinating and funny and God, so amazingly sexy, and – oh hell, I don’t know why we’re even having this discussion. Don’t you know that beauty is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder?”
She stared at him, stunned both by the depth of emotion she could sense in him, and by her own, almost overpowering willingness to trust in his sincerity. If anyone here was an idiot, it was clearly her.
“Well, Sam, all I can say is, you must have a very strange eye, that’s all. Because no one else I’ve been with has ever claimed to see what you do when they’ve looked at me.”
He shrugged, and this time there was no mistaking the relief that radiated from him, it was almost palpable. “Well, then, what can I say? I’m obviously just the latest in a long line of idiots. But trust me on this, angel. Anyone who’s been to bed with you and still doesn’t think you’re sexy is a much bigger idiot than I am.”
“Hey! It hasn’t been that long a line,” she croaked in scandalized amusement. And then couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You really think I’m sexy?”
“Amazingly sexy,” he corrected with a small smile. “You mean you don’t know that either?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I wish Alex could hear this,” she chuckled.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Do you think, from now on, we could please not discuss your ex-husband when you’re in bed with me?”
“Fine by me, I guess. But why?” she asked curiously.
“Because I don’t want you talking – or even thinking – about him when you’re with me, if you can help it.” He shook his head ruefully. “It makes me feel... I don’t know. Inadequate, or insecure
or something.”
Inadequate? She laughed so hard at that she would have fallen out of bed, if he hadn’t reached out and grabbed her and hauled her back against him.
“Now what’s so damn funny?” he growled.
“You,” she replied promptly. “Inadequate? Are you insane?” She reached up and clasped his face between her hands, first kissing him, and then gently biting down on his lower lip. He shuddered and then kissed her back greedily. She felt his hands trailing down the length of her spine, igniting every nerve along their way.
She pulled her mouth from his. “Sam, how could you possibly think something like that? You’re incredible. No one has ever made me feel the way you do.”
“Good.” He captured her face between his hands again and slammed his mouth back down on hers.
She returned his kisses eagerly; but several moments later, a new thought intruded, and she pulled away again. “So, how do I make you feel?” she asked, pushing against his shoulders until she’d rolled him onto his back. She pushed up on her knees and leaned over him.
He looked up at her with a resigned expression on his face. “Like I’m going to lose my mind and die of frustration. You’re gonna want to talk about this all night now, aren’t you?”
She smiled down at him, and slowly shook her head, letting the ends of her hair brush back and forth against his chest. “No, actually. I don’t feel like talking at all, at the moment.”
Very slowly, she lowered her mouth to his chest and began to kiss her way down his stomach. Reveling in the sharp intake of his breath, the taste of his skin, the way the muscles of his stomach quivered under her questing fingers, the soft moan that broke from his lips as she gently took him in her mouth.
Her hands slid down his thighs, her nails lightly scored the sensitive skin there, so that he shuddered again and again, his legs moving restlessly. She withdrew her mouth after a while, cradling him in her palm as she ran her tongue up and over his thrusting penis, around the base, around and over the tender globes below it. Then she cupped them gently with her other hand, and took him in her mouth again, faster now, in a steady, evocative rhythm that soon had him sucking in air.
